


Courage of Convictions

by silasfinch



Category: Saving Hope
Genre: F/F, Gen, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silasfinch/pseuds/silasfinch
Summary: An Alternative Universe: Sydney and Maggie meet in different circimstances, stages and ages. A widowed Sydney mentors Maggie on a medicial volunteering mission.God bless this messIf this is as good as it's gonna getI'm gonna hold you like I know it's gonna be okay againI got a hurricane in my heartKeeps on rattling the good apartAnd honestly, I'm just an honest wreckBut I'm trying my bestGod bless this mess, oh, God bless this messJillian Jacqueline - God Bless This Mess





	1. An Honest Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> I am writting another story - a mini obsession - one might say.  
> \- I heard this song and had to write.   
> People's opinions on age gaps in relationships very - this is my take.  
> Sydney really is too young to be as senior as she was in cannon - besides an older Syd is an interesting POV  
> Let me know what you think.

_“What other people may think of the rightness or wrongness is nothing in comparison to my own deep knowledge, my innate conviction that it was wrong.” Elizabeth Gaskell - North and South_

_God bless this mess_

_If this is as good as it's gonna get_

_I'm gonna hold you like I know it's gonna be okay again_

_I got a hurricane in my heart_

_Keeps on rattling the good apart_

_And honestly, I'm just an honest wreck_

_But I'm trying my best_

_God bless this mess, oh, God bless this mess_

_Jillian Jacqueline - God Bless This Mess_

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"I saved you some dinner."

 

I am frankly surprised by the intrusion into my solitude, sure my crying fit is not a secret especially not in such close quarters. However, most colleagues are respectful enough to know that the solitary Dr. Sydney Katz deals with her (numerous) problems privately and is always ready to go the next day.

 

My intruder must be the new doctor volunteering here as part of service before deciding on a specialty.

 

A team of Canadian doctors are volunteering their time to help set up a series of Emergency Health and Gynaecological Clinics throughout South America, and the Amazon, aided by a significant grant from an altruistic billionaire whos grandfather was Peruvian. Most of the doctors are here in shifts, moving from one event to another in their lives.

 

All except me, who is here for every intake and is on the way to set an agency record by accident, at least I am exceeding at one thing. I'm certainly not succeeding anywhere else: Motherhood, My Faith, and Widowhood.

 

"Chicken Salad is your favourite right and chocolate ice cream? I saved the last pack from Charlie and did a quick check to make sure it was kosher." the voice continues softly

 

I pull myself up and blink in surprise, working the remotest parts of an already remote part of the planet does not do anybody's beauty routines any favours. Maggie Lin still manages to radiate health and vigour as she steps into my tent and offers the food.

 

"Thank you" I manage to say, hoping that my staring is not too blatant.

 

"I don't think we have met, formally. I am Maggie Lin, OBYN or at least I hope to be"

 

Feeling immensely relieved I at least remembered to wash my hands after sobbing, I return the greeting

 

"Sydney Katz but I am sure everybody has warned you about me."

 

"Everybody is nothing but complimentary, especially of how hard you work for the people here. If they saying anything at all, it is to comment that you carry heavy burdens and to look out for you if I could"

 

"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Nobody needs to warn the new kid” the bark in my tone usually sends most young doctors scurrying away, but Maggie holds her ground with a serene smile.

 

"Your career highlight reel will attest to that" Maggie agrees easily ", but that does not mean that your colleagues are not allowed to give a damn about a workmate they respect."

 

A proper argument does not come to me at that precise moment, so I focus on eating the salad, surprisingly the faint traces of an appetite were coming back.

 

I see Maggie grin out of the corner of my eye. She is acting as if the act of eating the salad is a victory in a game only she knows. It's going to be an exciting year.

 

Excitement is something I despise as a rule.

 

****

 

Somehow I gain myself a keeper in the coming days and weeks.

 

Unlike the ill-fated brothers in Genesis who resist the task, Maggie seems to relish the role nobody appoints her to. No matter how busy our days at the clinic are, the younger doctor finds time to ambush me with food, or at the least leave snacks in my lab coat.

 

What by all rights should feel intrusive, feels strangely tender.

 

Her smile is so bright when she sees me eating her offering I cannot help but give in, I do feel better for the regular sustenance, and if I'm honest I enjoy the caring, it's true what they say about doctor's making the worst patients.

 

I, in turn, make an effort to collect facts about my benefactor. This task proves to be easy; Maggie is an open person and is popular with the rest of the team. Her life story and circumstances float throughout the day, in between first aid trips, surgery days and training local media.

 

Dr Maggie Lin is 25 and a graduate of Harvard Medical School. This fact immediately earns her the nickname of 'Ivy' amongst the team; she takes the teasing well enough, much better than I did on the first tour.

 

Maggie Lin is the daughter of a renowned cardiologist who died when she and her twin brother were young, casting a long and challenging shadow for his child who sought medicine and a template for the one that tried rebellion.

 

Maggie is a diligent student and is taking several courses by correspondence while she is here, a bold move given the intermittent internet access and tight schedule. I peek at her course notes one day and see that she is learning Conversational Maderian and History of The First Peoples of Canada, two crucial if dense topics, I am impressed.

 

Maggie is bisexual and relatively casual about mentioning both past girlfriends and boyfriends with equal levels of fondness and respect. She hotly challenges one of the nurse techs who claims 'bisexuality' is indecision by another name.

 

I am sick with envy, my journey to 'comfort' myself took close to 20 years and left emotional craters in its wake. I'm 35, and the closest thing I have come to acknowledge my identity is a series of one night stands in multiple countries.

 

 

*****

 

I am socialising with the other members of the team, and I blame Maggie for this entirely. She looks so hopeful when she invites me on the supply run into town that my resolve weakens almost immediately.

 

I am expecting a grilling on my problems - people asking me about the night terrors and frequent crying episodes that nobody can avoid hearing but nobody mentions a thing about it or anything else personal for that matter.

 

Charlie and Alex asked me to settle a debate on the best present for their 3-year-old daughter and six-year-old son, who demand more elaborate gifts increasingly from their parent's deployments. It turns out Maggie and Alex are best friends, and it is Alex who recommends she take this volunteer mission.

 

Jackson Wade surprises me by drawing me into a debate about the latest Revisionist Amendments to the Torah. His correspondence course is comparative religion. We have done three missions together; this is a fact I should know.

 

Billy Scott, the eager foundation doctor, quietly presses a set of beautiful stones in my hands, the thumb grooves mark them as 'worry stones' and the gesture is touching in ways I can't express with words, but I clutch them tightly.

 

Maggie beams at me from across the communal dinner table, apparently sensing another victory

 

 

****

 

"I am a Jewish widow from a devout family who disowned me when I refused to remarry and decided to live openly as a lesbian."

 

My social skills are not so rusty that I don't invite Maggie in, each time she drops me dinner or a late night snack, neither of us is one for keeping regular hours apparently. I find my ability to converse slowly coming back like a long-absent muscle, newly awoken.

 

The confession bursts out of me one night when she asks about my family back at home.

 

"I'm sorry you don't need to listen to all this, not when all you were doing is trying to support a colleague."

 

Maggie ignores my division and instead reaches for my hands, trying to sooth the trembling and my apparent inability to regulate my temperature.

 

"I am sorry for your loss on all counts. It is wrong that they shun you for an aspect of your life that you could no more control than your glorious red hair."

 

"Ah, don't bring in your years of logic and liberal ideology against centuries of doctrine, you'll lose, I certainly did. My husband knew what I was, how I felt, but traditional marriages in the community are built on far worse. We made a solid foundation that made us both happy in our own way.

 

Sydney smiles regretfully and wipes at a stray tear.

 

"Hershel died eight years ago, and I couldn't bear the thought of working that hard forged intimacy again, least of all with a somebody my family chose. When I explained my feelings to my family, they sued for guardianship and won - An infidel stood no chance against sympathetic orthodoxy."

 

"Oh Sydney, that must be a pain beyond imagining"

 

****

 

"My 14-year-old son is boarding at an international school in Chile because he rebelled against his grandparents one too many times and the courts become involved. I'm too much of a coward to change my lifestyle beyond paying the fees and daily letters I doubt he reads."

 

Maggie is silent for a long while as she sips her coffee and considers my words.

 

"What is his name?"

 

"His name is Eitan - meaning strength in Hebrew. He was our miracle child because both my husband and I had fertility problems."

 

"What is he like, your son?"

 

"If you ask my mother and former mother in law he inherited far too many of my recessive genes. He is stubborn, wistful and independent, not the makings of a Rabbi they wanted. Since you asked me, he is fiercely intelligent, loves to read as much as his father and has the makings of an architect."

 

"How has he responded to the family dynamic, does he know what happened to cause the estrangement?"

 

"Bits and pieces. Eitan does not seem to hold it against me too much. He knows I loved and respected his father in every way that matters most. We are slowly building something of a friendship, which is more than many in our community claim I deserve. He seems to enjoy the secular elements of the school and makes good friends each year."

 

Maggie smiles feeling oddly proud of a boy she has never met for giving his long-absent mother a chance. There are many ways such a relationship can crumble due to outside elements; her parents are a classic example

 

"He lives up to his namesake well."

 

 

 

****

 

"The grand irony is my parents performed Shiva over a technicality. I've drowned myself in remote medicine rather than actively pursuing the possibility."

 

"Well this conversation deserves a heavy duty chocolate" Maggie decides, producing a Lindt block with a grin.

 

"Do you have one pair of clothes and an entire grocery store in the rest of your suitcase?"

 

"Worse- a deeply concerned mother who believes I am alternately 4 and 14."

 

"Ah, I remember having one of those. It is a mixed blessing to be sure. Thank you for sharing your loot with me."

 

"You haven't sought out any relationship since coming out to your family?"

 

"No - with the notable exception of a few spectacular failures and regrettable one night stands. Apparently, I am too gay to be appropriately Jewish and too Jewish to fit in with any local lesbian scene. I am putting some of the responses charitably." I say trying to keep the regret from my voice.

 

"I think you are writing off an entire population based on a few bad experiences. Work your statistics, Dr Katz, there are galaxies of women on Kinsey's continuum of experiences, millions. There is no right way to live an identity, except your own."

 

"You may be used to being perfect at most things but maybe relationship building doesn't fit your prodigious timetable?" she suggests gently.

 

"Are you...." I don't want to admit I overheard many of her conversations.

 

"A student of Queer Theory? An admirer of Masters and Johnson? Willing to accept the attention of a beautiful and accomplished female doctor. The answer is yes to all three"

 

Before I can try to formulate an appropriate or merely coherent response, we need to open the clinic and start seeing the long line of families. It's a relief to go back to something so simple as mending sore and damaged bodies and practising the local dialect.

 

****

 

Maggie is crying.

 

I freeze at the door to her room, she missed our dinner date that night, and I figured it was about time I returned the favour in any event.

 

Her favourite meal and dessert are in my hand, complete with the iced coco drink she loves.

 

"Surprise, you don't have a monopoly of being a little broken, Dr Katz" she is facing the wall, but I can see the tension in her spine.

 

"It's my first period since I miscarried and it suddenly hit me all of a sudden. A combination of long days, challenging medicine and a genuinely rattled endocrine system."

 

"I certainly didn't help by monopolizing your nights so much, get some sleep now, Maggie."

 

"Best part of my day."

 

I crouch down beside her and gently stroke her back, realizing just how insular my world had become as a comforted another.

 

"There is no need to rationalize. Mourning needs to take its rightful place, even for the child that was yet to be. Your pain is real and valid."

 

"Stay for a while?” Sleep is already crowding her voice.

 

I cannot refuse her and continue my soft touches and steam of words if there is one thing I know, it’s grieving mothers. The idea of somebody as young as Maggie experience the loss makes me heartsick. I will her pain to ease and pray to God that he relieves her pain, even in a small way.

 

Perhaps He answers in her deep and even breathing.

 

 

 

 

*****

 

"I am sorry you have become my defacto Rabbi, this is not what you signed up for," I say self consciously as we are doing inventory in the primary field clinic before another move to the remote sites where they were performing high volume well-child checkups and vaccinations.

 

Maggie bounces back remarkably well, and the only sign of her pain is the long walks she takes with Alex and Charlie.

 

"At I guess, I would say nearly 40 years of both active and passive repression" Maggie replies as she rolled another set of bandages.

 

"Hey, don't remind me of my age, you whippersnapper" I complain playfully, it is a surprise that Maggie brings back my long-dormant sense of humour.

 

"I am not that much younger than you; nine years is not that many" Maggie fires back."

 

Nine Years, Seven Months and 23 days I silently correct, it would be convenient to blame my near photographic memory for knowing that figure, but it is a lie.

 

 

"You are wiser than me, at any age it seems, you fit in well with every human and the families adore you. I hope you consider making such trips a regular part of your medical outreach. Any discipline will be lucky to gain Dr. Lin" I compliment softly.

 

We work in companionable silence for a while, the work as always a ready distraction. We have the funds but not the workforce, so everybody gets an ever-growing list of chores. You don't last long here if you held too firmly to the notions of the hierarchy of labour and the 'proper role' for a doctor.

 

"I can't be too wise if the majority of my amygdala is devoted to contemplating ways to ask you out on a date and what kissing you would feel like."

 

My body and mind freeze simultaneously, years of reflective training mean I don't knock over instruments or anything equally mortifying.

 

Her honesty and directness are some of her best features. Most people would be stuttering, ashamed of making such a direct announcement but Maggie is regarding me directly, dark eyes serene.

 

It would be helpful if she had a few flaws beyond horrible taste in women.

 

"There are targets far more worthy of your amygdala's focus than a broken closet case with non-existent social skills and more baggage than Heathrow Airport The field is yours to choose from here to Toronto" I whisper, almost tempted to list the women who show interest.

 

"Such clichés are beneath someone of your intellect, Sydney. Somewhere in that pile of self-deprecation is a key phrase." Maggie says, a note of real chiding in her voice.

 

"If I am free to choose anyone, aren't I just as free to choose you?" the question hits me like a kick from my unskilled but karate-loving nephew.

 

"I....."

 

"You don't need to answer now, we have 290 days left in this rotation, think about it, you excel at thinking but don't give this more weight than it deserves."

 

She moves to go, but I grab the sleeve of her lab coat with no real plan in mind beyond trying to assess from her features if this is either a dream or a strange social prank.

 

Her gaze locks my lips, desire evident as she itches towards my personal space, her light sweat and perfume lodging in my nostrils.

 

"You aren't broken beyond repair, Syd. That's just that narrative you buy into" she whispers against my cheek as she brushes her lips across my cheekbone and brushes my hair out of my face.

 

My glasses steam up at the contact and my face flames, at the mortifying occurrence. My tan can only forgive so much.

 

"Thank you Dr Yoda - should I Eat, Pray, Love, next?"

 

Maggie laughs as she walks away.

 

"I wouldn't object"

 

 

****

 

I am disappointed not to see Maggie in her usual spot outside my room the following night. In her place, there is a note, dinner and a present, for a moment I panic that I have frightened her off with the near kiss disaster.

 

I am expertly chastising myself before catching sight of my son's name amongst her surprisingly neat script.

 

_Syd,_

_If you can tell me your story, tell Eitan. He deserves to know you, not just rumours of you. You can't move forward with so much guilt in whatever path you choose, try to eat while I am on a supply run."_

_Maggie._

 

The present that accompanies that note is a beautifully bound journal, most likely from one of the markets. The colours swirl in geometric patterns and the paper is thick and heavy. The title page bears Maggie's neat script as well.

 

_Dear Eitan_

_Its official I may be falling for that newest member of our team._

_The news is as about as welcome contracting my third bout of malaria. I fear it is almost as unavoidable too._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sydney’s Background in Letters 
> 
> Next chapters are all relationship based

 

I avoid starting the letters to my son; the beautiful journal remains under my bed for a week. There are plenty of excuses as to why my schedule does not permit baring my soul, but I am not self-reflective by nature, and the concept of weaving my narrative together is daunting.

However, the concept and possibilities distract me more than the multiple species of mosquitoes that come in seasonal waves. I am not by nature a reflective person; it is a defense mechanism against my many mistakes, family prejudices are not the only reason we are in a current stalemate. Responsibility is on both sides of the divide, my words to them were harsh, full of righteous indignation even knowing what they too would lose having a lesbian daughter.

I am reflective now, and the process does not shred my soul as much as previous attempts.

Memories of my first failed 'coming out' at sixteen when mum and dad mostly ignored my declaration. They did not say a word beyond offering an ultimatum. This new 'lifestyle choice' or the community. For an insecure, overachieving kid the decision is already made

Memories of Hershel as a new husband, surprisingly gentle and accepting of an unconventional with borderline scandalous ideas. Instead, he delights in our joint love of scholarship and reverence for the community.

Memories of nursing a sick Becca through miscarriages and chemo, being profoundly grateful for Hershel and his steadfast support of both Becca and her husband, even when the whispers start, claiming curses. He also helps to change bed sheets when things get especially bad.

Memories of the struggle to conceive, both out families having histories or reduced fertility. The absolute joy that is realizing that the 7th time would be the one to make it, an auspicious number to any joyous woman.

This wandering through my past is not natural for me, years of failing at therapy will attest to my lack of talent when it comes to self-reflection. However, there is a particular joy to forming a tribute to my son who I am getting to know as an adult, the son who has his father's heart and his mother's temperament.

  
***

 

 

Dear Eitan

My story isn't a glamorous one.

I am not going to hide anything from you, my actions in the time just before and after your father's death bring me great shame. The path set before me is the correct one, but that does not mean that regrets don't haunt my nights. Of course, chief amongst them is not fighting harder for custody of you and developing an identity that did not shun the community entirely.

This journal is not a request for forgiveness if what we have achieved now is the extent of our relationship; it is beyond my wildest hopes. However, I want you to understand that there were many factors at play in my life and you will always be the centre of my universe even if it seems otherwise at some crucial points in your childhood.

I love you my son

  
***

Maggie does not put any pressure on me when she returns.

I am fearful that her declaration means a shift in our dynamic and that she will want me to articulate things that I don't have words for, Isn't that how these things go? How do relationships change?

However, I should have had greater faith in this remarkable young woman who understands me on a deeper level.

Maggie does not say a word about her feelings or my reactions to them. Instead, we talk about our caseload, her progress in learning Spanish and the local languages, and how she is adapting to the new realities.

The team is more of a presence in my life too, I no longer spend evenings in my quarters and actively engage in conversations with each of them to varying degrees. Charlie is becoming something close to an actual friend Billy Scott is a delightful student and has the making of a tremendous young doctor if he can get a hold of his anxiety and doubts.

  
***

Dear Eitan

My primary skill in life is lying, to myself most of all.

I desperately wanted to be the ideal Jewish woman I was meant to be, so that's what I made myself for a time. It was not a complicated process, after all, there is great pride in the Katz name and our legacy. The temple helped my parents pay for medical school and obligations came with that, but it did not feel like a burden instead of a privilege.

I become an expert at lying to myself.

These feelings I felt would go away on their own if I tried hard enough to ignore them.

My secrets were only ever going to hurt me and nobody else. There is no such thing as collateral damage if you fight hard enough.

My feelings were not apparent to other people around me and neither were they the source of much speculation from my earliest days.

The lie that there is a single black and white reality between the two parts of myself grew and I had to give up one to pursue the other. There may have been a compromise, but at that age, it was invisible to me.

My worst lie perhaps was the lie that you were better off with no mother than a broken one with a shameful status and an uncertain future.

 

 

 

  
****

Our dinner dates resume, and it is both a delight and a danger.

A delight because they are my favourite part of the day. We talk for a few hours about everything and nothing, depending on our mood and the length of our shifts. Maggie is grave by nature, but some of her stories make me laugh so hard the sound echoes in the night. Her medical school years could not have been more different from mine, right down to how exactly she learnt the fundamentals of anatomy.

Our time together is dangerous for precisely the same reason. While Maggie is away, I half convince myself this emotion is a pointless flight of fancy on both our parts. However, the time together proves that there is a genuine connection between us that goes well beyond attraction and common ground.

Maggie is going to be a brilliant doctor, and I want to help her get there.

Her father's legacy weighs heavily on her young shoulders, especially as her mother disagrees with her profession choice. Despite this, she has natural instincts and talents for mothers and their babies. I make a habit of testing her at random points during the day, no matter what she is doing at the time. She answers promptly without hesitation or resentment, seeming to embrace the challenge.

***

Dear Eitan

My husband is the best of men, far better than I deserve.

I know that there were wild rumours when he died, and I left but never doubt your father is a parent to aspire to, my son. You remind me of him in so many ways and that is the best gift that God gave you. Whatever path you choose to follow, know that he was proud beyond measure to be your parent.

There are far worse marriages then ours. Your father back then was a joyful and happy soul, but he was not naive. He knew the rumours about me and the shame I had almost brought before our engagement. He agreed to the arrangement anyway. There were merely topics we did not discuss and expectations we avoided.

He taught me how to appreciate the real diversity in the Holy Scriptures. We would debate the more delicate points for hours, each training our minds in our fields by arguing with each other till dawn.

I taught him the points of modern living that need not be shunned for the sake of tradition, that there is a level compromise between the two worlds we lived in, did you know that your father loved Folk Music and Springsteen?

Oddly we balanced each other well.

There are so many stories that I would like to tell you.

  
***

Maggie is far from perfect; annoyingly this seems to only add to her appeal in my besotted eyes.

I am not so besotted with her that I cannot see her faults and all. A deployment like this makes for realistic character building no matter the person.

She gets too involved in the lives of patients and refuses to see the logic in withdrawing for the sake of efficiency. This tendency leads to the worst arguments between them, and there is no easy way to reconcile the differences in philosophy. Maggie can be stubborn, and the same is one of your defining characteristics.

Dr Lin is often blinded by idealism at times and often struggles with the bleak nature of some of our work. We are making a difference in this region, but there are many obstacles in our way and centuries of mistreatment that we can begin to address. Most doctors have a saviour complex to a lesser or greater extent, but Maggie takes this to an extreme. Her heart is under threat, and there is a danger of burnout.

Maggie struggles to please everyone in her orbit even if they are in opposition to each other. This desire is to the determent of her health and well being. She is such a wonderfully social person that she tends to believe that the rest of the world will follow suit if given enough time. Heck if she can get Alex Read and me to get alone than perhaps there is something to her philosophy after all.

Yes, Maggie Lin is far from perfect but she is a beautiful person who lights up my darkest days without even trying.

 

 

  
***

Dear Eitan

My mother ignored the fact that her daughter was a lesbian.

You have told me a little of the narrative that your grandfather gave you about me. Frankly, it is more respectful than I believed them capable of, even if Leviticus brands like a weapon. Their shame in me is total, but they did work to protect you in their own, misguided way.

My mother has known for 26 years the secrets that I kept; she is far more astute than she lets on. There were many instances in my adolescence when my feelings were visible, and they both painted over them with a wallpaper of guilt and accusation, especially when it comes to my feelings for an old friend.

  
My ultimate sin was seeking to live this life openly without subterfuge or pretense of Friday evenings. In their mind, this is the far more significant sin and the one you need to be protected from at all costs.

She yells at me for days about what I will be 'exposing' you to and the loss of standing at the Temple. How you will lose all your friends in school and beyond. Mother paints a bleak picture of exile but to an extent, it is an accurate one, children do bare the sins of the parents.

Your grandfather is a businessman with a passion for economics he brutally laid out the reality of being a junior doctor raising a child without family support or a secure network of friends in 'my lifestyle', which was the code word of the day. The facts and figures were brutal, especially when they withdrew financial support.

Aunt Becca begs me to reconsider, offering all sorts of outlandish suggestions. We were close and our husbands were best friends. She calls me a coward for not putting your needs ahead of my own. The words she uses still grate at my spirt, but I know from you that she was one of my few defenders.

 

***

"How is the letter writing going?"

Once she establishes the foundation of my life experiences and presumably why I resemble a porcupine, she is careful to avoid unspoken danger zones, including my family and the attraction between us.

In fact, I find myself pushing the line more than she does, in my clumsy socially way inept which she seems to find charming.

“Your interference project is bearing fruit, Dr. Freud. Though I can’t vouch for the readability”

You try to sound annoyed but Maggie knows you well enough to understand that if you weren’t ready for this change, you wouldn’t have done it.

The student is ready for the teacher so to speak.

“Your son will value them in any event, Dr. Katz” I envy her serenity.

“Do you want children?” I ask curiously.

“One day – when I am established in my practice. My mother is keen”

I smile at the image of an older Maggie and her children. She will take to motherhood like everything else, with ease and grace. The children will flourish. In her care.

“That’s good” is all I say

 

 

 

  
***

Dear Eitan

You are our miracle child and remain the light of our life, even with all my medical knowledge we fought hard to bring you into the world and lost two children before you came to us.

One of the most endearing memories I have of your father is the image of him holding you in the hours before dawn, reading passages of the Torah. He was so overwhelmed with emotion that he repeats verses at various points, looking up at me as if to check that you are real.

I can attest to the reality of you and the 17-hour labour we shared. Hershel was going against tradition and staying with me for the whole thing, even though he faints at the sight of blood, how he kept from fainting I'll never know.

My favourite memories of you were when we brought you home. You were always so curious from a young age. I read to you for hours, and still, you wanted more. There were nights when I would count the stars for you like a lullaby.

This time was my definition of contentment, we had beautiful years together, being your mother was and remains my proudest achievement. There must be some pressure from being the miracle on two sides of the family but never forget, you have been an active fighter since the day you were born.

When your father died, I knew the expectations that my parents and the Rabbi held...it was apparent. The community practically saw this as a formality. A widow with a young son cannot be left alone for the sake of the child if nothing else. The story of Issah holds true.

A widow with secrets should be left alone.

 

  
***

I do not send all the letters.

The process of writing to my son becomes something close to therapy for me, and there are dozens of letters of varying lengths, that does not mean they attain the same quality or are suitable for children.

My selection process takes several weeks, but the result is a work of art, I include drawings and photos reflecting my current life and work.

There tends to be a belief that remote areas of the world are universally deprived of all modern conveniences. However, it is more accurate to say the services tend to be more inconsistent and you have to learn how to work the system. This situation is a why I select my mail options carefully and pay exactly to ensure safe delivery of my journal.

Maggie insists on going with me, sensing that this will be a nerve-wracking time for me. She is a great distraction, and we cheerfully debate who had the worst organic chemistry professors in 3-year med. Her impersonations are incredible.

She does not hold my hand when we walk to the post office, I am not ready for that, and neither is she. However, Maggie walks close enough that our hands brush at regular intervals. Her watch becomes a comforting presence at my side.

My silent champion.

 


End file.
